


Guilt’s Burn, Fire’s Weight

by VerdantMoth



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Character Death, Illegal Magic, M/M, Merlin and Arthur Live, Moral Ambiguity, Regret
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-28
Updated: 2018-06-28
Packaged: 2019-08-23 14:12:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,490
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16620539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VerdantMoth/pseuds/VerdantMoth
Summary: Arthur is there when they pile the wood together. He is always there. He’s been there every time they’ve stacked the wood, since he was old enough to toddle up and stare through the gaps in the balcony wall. He’s watched them burn, one by one, mothers with children, fathers and brothers. He’s stared, empty eyes and blank minded, and tried not to vomit over the smell of burning flesh afterwards.





	Guilt’s Burn, Fire’s Weight

 

Arthur is there when they pile the wood together. He is always there. He’s been there every time they’ve stacked the wood, since he was old enough to toddle up and stare through the gaps in the balcony wall. He’s watched them burn, one by one, mothers with children, fathers and brothers. He’s stared, empty eyes and blank minded, and tried not to vomit over the smell of burning flesh afterwards.

Merlin isn’t. Merlin is never there. No matter how hard Arthur tries, no matter the threats the king makes, no matter the lashes down his bare back, Merlin refuses to stand and watch. Arthur knows why, gets the rage and the pain splintering through Merlin’s eyes. He never says anything, doesn’t tell Merlin what he knows. It isn’t time. It was never meant to be time.

They’re setting it up now, coating the wood with accelerant. It’ll burn bright and hot and despite everything he is, everything he will be, Arthur cannot stop this.

He doesn’t want Merlin here, for once. He wants Merlin to stay as far away as possible. But he knows Merlin. He can see the servant shoving through crowd, pushing everyone out of the way. It isn’t time. It won’t be time until the sun has reached her highest point. What Merlin could possibly think he can do now, at this time, Arthur doesn’t know.

He rips through the crowds, as rude as the dark haired male, but with more urgency. It takes him moments, long or short he doesn’t know, but only moments and then he’s grabbing Merlin by the elbow. His grip is tight, boarding on painful, and Merlin turns.

“Arthur no! Let me go.”

Arthur doesn’t respond, just herds him towards an abandoned corridor. He crowds him up against the stone, pinning Merlin against the cool wall. “You will stay away, Merlin. You will stay in Gaius’  chambers.”

“I won’t!” Merlin struggles against him and Arthur snarls, pulls the knife from his belt and presses it to Merlin’s belly.

“You will not defy me, Merlin. Not this time. I will tie you to a chair if I must, but you will stay away.”

Merlin’s eyes flare and Arthur looks behind him nervously. He shoves a gloved hand over Merlin’s mouth, pushes hard enough the other man’s head is forced back. “This is not an order you can disobey, Merlin. You do so, and you do it on pain of death. Yours, Gaius’, and your mother’s. Trust me Merlin, if you do not obey me today, I will hunt her down and make you watch.”  He wouldn’t. And despite the hate burning in Merlin’s eyes, Arthur knows he knows it too. But he  _ needs  _ Merlin to be a good servant, just this once.

\---

Merlin is screaming.

Gaius looks terrified but Arthur ignores the old man. “Stand down, Merlin! Stand down now.”

“You don’t understand! She is  _ innocent _ !”  Merlin is out of his mind with grief, no regards for the bowls swirling about his head, the thunder cracking beneath their feet, or the rainbow rain soaking Gaius’s bed.

“Please, Arthur! It’s me! I am the sorcerer, not her. You can’t let them burn her. She has committed no crime!” Tears are slicing over Merlin’s cheekbones, spit flying between lips bitten bloody. “She cannot die for sins that are not her own!”

He grabs Arthur, fists his hands in Arthur’s tunic. “Don’t you see? I am the sorcerer.”

Arthur pries his hands off, holds them in fist fast against him. “I know, Merlin.”

Merlin doesn’t hear him. “Please, please don’t let this happen. We must stop it.”

Arthur shakes him then, grabs broad but brittle shoulders and rattles them until Merlin cannot breath. Until he sinks to the floor. “I know, Merlin. I know what you are. But you cannot confess. It cannot be you.”

Merlin snarls, throws himself at Arthur and he pounds into the prince with a fierceness that knocks the breath from Arthur’s lungs and leaves his ribs bruised. He doesn’t stop Merlin, doesn’t try to contain the whirlwind of rage and agony.

“We cannot save her, Merlin, and I will not sacrifice you in her stead.” 

\---

The sun has reached her peak, when they drag Gwen out. Her face, warm and soft, glowing still, is caked in dirt and streaked with tears. She looks with wild brown eyes towards the balcony where Arthur usually stands. He is not there though. She is unsurprised.

She looks into the crowd, at the faces of her brother and the knights. At the other servants who regard her with fear and pity. She looks at the baker and his family, and at Gaius, and the cook and all of the people who’ve surrounded her in her years serving Camelot.

Morgana is the only one who looks at her with head held high. There is no fear, no pity in Morgana’s eyes. There’s rage, a fight that can’t be won, and there is hatred. She knows how unjust this is. Gwen can see the bruises on her wrist, the tremble in her limbs as she struggles to come up with a way to prevent this from occurring.

Gwen studies the crowd once more, looking for blue eyes and a large grin, but Merlin is as absent as the prince. Gwen knows why, now. She’d had her suspicions, knows Morgana suspects them. Gwen is certain now, and she knows she is going to pay the price. She can only hope Morgana does not also pay for Arthur’s affections.

They tie her to the stake and she sends up a prayer, tries to forgive the betrayal of her closest friend. She stares at Morgana, watches the princess weep as the flames crawl up, as the smoke clogs her lungs. She isn’t sure if Morgana actually collapses, if the scream really comes from the balcony, or if it’s her own. The pain curls around her and she tries not to hate the king, his son.

Her last thought though, is of Merlin, and her hate burns hotter than the flames skipping over her skin.

\---

Merlin stares at the wall for days. He doesn’t move, doesn’t speak, doesn’t eat. Arthur isn’t sure if he breathes.

Arthur sits beside him when he can spare the time, bathes him at night and puts him to bed. Gaius tries to coax broth down his throat, but Merlin wears more than makes it into his belly.

Arthur tries. Tries to come up with an apology, with a way to ease the guilt he knows Merlin carries. The guilt he himself should carry. Nothing comes to mind and Arthur finds himself stroking matted dark hair in silence.

Morgana hates him, has carved her rage into his arms, his chest, his neck. “You should have saved her!”

“I know, Morgana, I know.”

His shirt is stiff with the salt of her tears. “You chose Merlin.”

Arthur tangles his hands in her hair, holds her as close as possible. “Always, Morgana.”

\--- 

Merlin comes back into himself three weeks later and he leaves. Arthur follows him. Out the gates, through the fields, between the trees. All the way to the lake where two crosses stand between trees.

Merlin sinks in the mud to his knees, runs his hands over the damp earth. Beautiful wild flowers burst from the ground in a chaotic symphony of rage and regret. Merlin knows he is there but he ignores his presence as he coaxes the flowers into braids and wreaths and living garlands that grace the graves of two servants wrongly accused.

“I know, Merlin. What you are. What she wasn’t.”

“And yet you let her die.”

“She would not have lived, Merlin. You would have died, and they’d have burned her anyway.”

Merlin pounds the ground. Arthur steps back as birds claw their way from the dirt and the ground cracks in golden fissures. “Then so be it! But she wouldn’t have died alone, for nothing!”

“Gwen would have died alone and afraid, just the same. She would have died riddled with concern for your execution, hoping for a rescue that wouldn’t come, and you’d both be rotting in sewage because no one would have considered a proper burial for two disgraced servants.”

Merlin shudders and the ground around them stops rippling around Arthur’s ankles. Carefully he approaches the male, sinks down beside him. “I will always pick you, Merlin. Just as you have always picked me. Just as you always will.”

“Do you feel no shame, for it?”

Arthur’s heart thuds, then stills, heavy in his chest. He studies the blistered sky, pockmarked with clouds promising violent storms.  Weighs the smell of smoke and flesh still rotting in his nostrils against the warm press of Merlin beside him. Taste the salt of Morgana’s tears, and the blood from the scars she left him with. “Not enough to do what is right, if it means never being by your side again.”

 


End file.
